Viva la Vida: The Story Behind the Song
by Lex Lennox
Summary: The Story Behind the Song of Viva la Vida by Coldplay


_Peter swept the dusty old street carelessly as the streetlights went on overhead. It was getting dark, but he knew he had to finish his job. To sweep. That was his punishment. Peter was already a prisoner of Death Row, and he knew his time was short. "When I ruled the world, I would make my servants do this for me," he muttered under his breath, wiping the sweat from his brow. "But now, no one cares. Not even her... Now I sleep alone." Peter shook his head fiercely and started sweeping again. "When I used to rule the world... Those were the days," he whispered, letting his memories take him..._

_**I used to rule the world**_

_**Seas would rise when I gave the word**_

_**Now in the morning I sleep alone**_

_**Sweep the streets I used to own**_

_"Rack 'em up, boys!" a young Peter called, collecting the gold from his partners. "I win again." He smiled a charming smile, and picked up the dice. "Shall we play again?" he asked. He could tell the others were fearful. They knew he would win again and rid them of all their gold. "No takers?" he asked, looking around. A lone figure appeared from out of the shadows. "I'll play you... For the kingdom," he said in a husky voice. The man walked out into the dim light that surrounded the ally. It was the king! "King Matthew, but why?" Peter asked, shocked. "Because, I'm growing too old to run kingdom, and if you win, you get the kingdom and you get the honor of killing me... But if I win," he said, his eyes shining, "I get to kill you." Peter was internally kicking himself. There was no way he could cheat his way out of this. "Your roll, sir," he muttered, placing the dice on the table. The king picked up the dice and rolled. Peter crossed his fingers under the table. Be a low number, he thought to himself. The dice hit the table with a muffled thud, revealing the numbers to be a one and a two. All Peter had to do now was beat that. He picked up the dice with a sweaty hand, shaking them about madly. "Come on six," he whispered to himself. He let the dice fly out of his hand, and when they hit the table, they revealed a six and a four. "I... I win," he stammered, looking up at the pale king. "You win," the king said, not meeting Peter's gaze. The king pulled a long, jagged knife out of his cloak, and he jammed it onto the table. "Fair enough. Go on then," he said, closing his eyes. Peter took the knife in his right hand. He smiled evilly and then he rammed the knife through the old king's chest. He heard the old man gasp as blood oozed from his mouth and his wound. "You'll regret doing this... Peter," he managed to choke out. The king gasped for breath, but he knew his time was short. After about two minutes of trying to fight his fate, he stopped breathing. "Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!" the crowd chanted. Peter was in a tizzy. Never in a million years did he think he would kill someone or become king. Now he had all the power he needed..._

_**I used to roll the dice**_

_**Feel the fear in my enemies eyes**_

_**Listen as the crowd would sing:**_

_**"Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!"**_

_"Here's the key to the castle, my lord," the servant, David, had said, handing Peter the key. "Thanks," he replied, gingerly taking it from the old man's hand. He walked over to the large, double doors and stuck the key in the lock. He turned it, and pushed open the doors. The castle was magnificent. The tapestries were all new, the floors were a beautiful pure white marble, and the pillars were made of a great grey stone. Peter walked down the entry hallway, the key still in hand. Little did he know, Peter was being plotted against by the very same man who had lost against him in the game before the king's. "The walls will soon close on you, Peter," the man, named Christopher, whispered from his dark, shadowy corner. "Your castle stands on pillars of sand." Peter smiled a secret smile and walked up the marble staircase and turned right, heading to his chambers. Once inside them, he sat down at his wooden desk and began writing. "Dearest Eleanor," he wrote. "I've become king! I want more than anything for you to come and live with me in the castle. The kingdom of Jerusalem, can you believe it? All of it, all of it is mine to mold and shape into a better world! All my love, Peter." He gingerly kissed the letter and wrapped it up. "Surely they can send this to her..." he whispered, placing the letter back on his desk..._

_Christopher snuck into Peter's chambers late one night. "Just my luck," he whispered to himself. "No guards, no Peter." He crossed the room to Peter's desk, tossing around papers, looking for anything that could hurt him. "Ah ha, what do we have here?" he whispered, looking at the letter Peter had written to Eleanor. "This could be quite useful." He sat down in the chair and began to write his own letter to Eleanor. He carefully placed it inside of the real letter and placed it on the desk. Then, Christopher got up and strolled out of the room... _

_**One minute I held the key**_

_**Next the walls were closed on me**_

_**And I discovered that my castles stand**_

_**Upon pillars of salt, and pillars of sand**_

_A few hours later, Peter was on top of the highest tower, looking out onto the horizon. He quietly began singing to himself, mumbling of a long forgotten tune that his mother used to sing to him..._

_**"I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing**_

_**Roman Cavalry choirs are singing**_

_**Be my mirror my sword and shield**_

_**My missionaries in a foreign field"**_

_Tears started to stream down his pale face. "Mother," he whispered, trying hard not to let more tears leak out. His mother had disappeared when he was quite young. The king of the time took her away, and he never heard from her again. Peter assumed she was dead. Peter grew confused, upset... scared. He had no idea what it took to rule the world. "Mother, what should I do?" he called out, letting his voice echo back to him. He closed his eyes and gripped the outer wall in front of him. He let his mind open, as to let himself become free. Then it hit him; he had to lie, deceive, to become a great king. "I can't explain, but this way will work," he whispered, turning around and heading down the spiral staircase that lead back into the castle. "And soon, I will rule the world."_

_**For some reason I can not explain**_

_**Once you know there was never, never an honest word**_

_**That was when I ruled the world**_

_About two years later, Peter had done just as he said he would. He had the whole world ruled. People he once knew, people that used to look up to him, and many others could not believe what he had become. "Peter!" Eleanor called to him one morning. "You've turned into a monster!" Peter looked up from his great map, meeting her hateful gaze. "I've turned into a monster? I see no fangs, I see no beady eyes, I see no tail," he mocked, smirking. She walked over to his desk slowly. Raising her hand, she struck him across the face. "I can't believe what you've done!" she yelled, tears streaming down her face. She ran out of his chambers before he could stop her. Outside, the wind picked up suddenly. "Hm?" Peter wondered, getting out of his chair. He looked out the musty window and saw that a storm was raging. The doors of his chambers blew open. Peter's heart stopped, and he stopped breathing. He crossed the room and closed it. "It's only the wind," he muttered, running his fingers through his now damp hair. Suddenly, the windows broke. He whipped around, his eyes widening. Drums. He heard drums. "What is this?" he called out, gripping the sides of his head. "King Peter!" people yelled from below. "Come to your window!" Peter crossed the room and looked out the window. An angry mob, complete with torches and pitchforks, were standing at the castle gates. They could not believe what he had become._

_"Ah, Eleanor, finally you have arrived," Christopher said as Eleanor entered his chambers. "Peter's turned into a monster, just like you said he would," she mumbled, not meeting his gaze. "Did you see the little mob scene outside the castle?" Christopher asked, smiling evilly. She nodded, but then jerked her head up. "That was your doing?" Christopher just laughed. "I was the one who called upon the storm, the one who broke the windows, and the one who beat the drum," he said, still laughing. "The townsfolk are a lot nicer to someone who doesn't lie." Eleanor crossed the room and sat next to Christopher. "Well, I'll join you," she mumbled. He smirked. This was going exactly as he had planned. Peter would soon fall..._

_**It was the wicked and wild wind**_

_**Blew down the doors to let me in.**_

_**Shattered windows and the sound of drums**_

_**People could not believe what I'd become**_

_The townspeople raided the castle in a mad search for Peter. "Top floor!" David, the old servant who had given Peter the key to the castle, called out after being severely beaten. Someone kicked him before he madly rushed upstairs. Four townspeople knocked down the doors to Peter's chambers moments later and bagged him. "Take that, you liar!" they yelled, throwing the bag on the ground and kicking it. Inside, Peter was in bad shape. After they had their fun, they picked up the bag and took it back to one of their homes._

_Peter, who was bleeding pretty badly by now, was tossed out of the burlap bag. "Now, do we kill you now?" one of his captors asked. "Naw, save him for the Revolutionaries," another said. The third one walked into the light and kicked Peter square in the stomach. "You WILL pay for what you've done to all of us!" he screamed. "I'm sorry! Please, just don't kill me!" Peter yelled, beginning to sob. The three laughed in unison. Who would ever want to be king, Peter thought to himself. This was torture. How did he become a monster? "Let's turn him in!" the first one yelled, grabbing him by his arm and dragging him out the door..._

_**Revolutionaries Wait**_

_**For my head on a silver plate**_

_**Just a puppet on a lonely string**_

_**Oh who would ever want to be king?**_

_A week later, Peter was put on trial. The ways he ruled the kingdom were reviewed, and the horrible truths were exposed. "Guilty," the judge proclaimed on that fateful Monday evening. The townsfolk cheered, throwing sneers in Peter's direction. "Kill him!" they chanted. The judge hit his gavel on his desk. "Order!" he yelled. The judge cleared his throat and said, "Peter will be given three months of punishment. He will sweep the streets of the kingdom. After those three months, he will be killed." The townspeople jumped out of their seats, all of them cheering madly. Peter hung his head in shame. His mother would not have been proud of what he had done. He looked up at the judge, who did not meet his gaze, and began to quietly sing the song his mother taught him..._

_**"I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing**_

_**Roman Cavalry choirs are singing**_

_**Be my mirror my sword and shield**_

_**My missionaries in a foreign field**_

_**For some reason I can not explain**_

_**I know Saint Peter won't call my name**_

_**Never an honest word**_

_**And that was when I ruled the world"**_

_Peter looked up from his handy work. "Well, that's a clean street if you ever did see," he mumbled, wiping the sweat from his brow. He picked up his broom and put it away in the nearby cupboard. "Peter!" the guard yelled, making Peter jerk his head up. "It is time." Peter's eyes widened. "B-but I can't go yet! I don't want to be anyone else! I want to stay Peter!" he yelled, sobbing into his dusty hands. The guard ran towards him, beginning to pull him back to the cells of Death Row. "Wait here," the guard commanded, pointing to the cell nearest the gallows. Peter silently obeyed..._

_An hour later, Peter was dragged out of his cell by someone he barely recognized. "Christopher?" he asked, his eyes widening. Christopher nodded. "But... why?" He laughed grimly. "Because, __**brother**__," he began. "You became what Mother never wanted either of us to be." Peter dropped his head in shame... and he could swear as his brother dragged him closer to the gallows... he could hear their mother's song in the wind..._

_**"Hear Jerusalem bells are ringings**_

_**Roman Cavalry choirs are singing**_

_**Be my mirror my sword and shield**_

_**My missionaries in a foreign field**_

_**For some reason I can not explain**_

_**I know Saint Peter will call my name**_

_**Never an honest word"**_

_The rope was tied tightly around Peter's neck by his own brother. "You can save me, you know, clear me of all charges. Please, brother. Please!" Peter begged, trying to loosen the rope. Christopher just tightened it more. "No, now that wouldn't be right, now would it?" he asked mockingly. Peter looked out into the crowd that was gathering to watch his death. "Eleanor!" he called out, raising a feeble hand toward her. "She's mine now," Christopher whispered in his ear. Peter began to sob. None of this should have happened. He could have stopped the madness from happening. The board from under Peter dropped, and his neck snapped. With his last breath he managed to whisper, "I'm sorry." And then he was gone. King Peter was dead, and Christopher would soon become king. Things could have been so easy..._

_**But that was when I ruled the world**_


End file.
